Under a New Banner
by Unrivaled Dragon Slayer
Summary: An assignment gone wrong leads to Eragon sitting on the vile floor of the Varden's dungeons. He awaits the hangman's noose and it seems there is no possibility of escape. However, a chance to right his wrongs and avenge his loved ones leads him onto the path of becoming an honorable warrior: a knight.


**Alright, here's the new story people. A collaboration between Elemental Dragon Slayer and Unrivaled Mind. Enjoy and review.  
**

Twelve years past:

He stumbled exhaustedly into the camp he'd been trying to reach for days. His entire body was numb from the cold and he didn't believe he could survive much longer. Two nights before, he had spotted the light from this settlement and had struggled non-stop to reach it before he collapsed. Now, as he walked dazedly into the firelight, he heard the unsheathing of blades and the stretch of bow-strings as arrows were trained on his weak form. But Eragon was too tired to be frightened, instead dropping to his knees and slowly crumpling to the ground unconscious. He woke three days later with irons on his wrists and two guards standing outside the slit of a black tent. Only now did he realize just how ominous his surroundings were.  
He almost wished he'd died in the mountains than recieve whatever cruel fate awaited him at this dreadful place. One of his guards glanced inside and saw him stirring, causing him to shout for some one named Garrow to come quickly. Soon enough, a tall man with gray speckled brown hair and a scruffy beard stepped between the flaps of the tent. He had a face lined with wear, looking thick and rugged from harsh weather and, Eragon guessed, brutal battles. Garrow's eyes were a piercing grey color and he held himself like a leader, albeit with his very wiry frame. He wore very fine black dyed leather armor that made him look rather imposing however. When he spoke, his voice was gravelly and deep, like that of a war hero from the tales of old.  
"You are finally awake. I was beginning to think we'd have to put you down as we do the maimed horses." Eragon's young eyes widened in fear and he scrunched back against the wall, trying to put distance between himself and the man. A chuckle left Garrow's lips and he pulled over a seat, flipping it around and sitting on it backwards. "Don't worry lad, that was only my effort to make you laugh. Apparently you are more frightened of me than I expected. We shall try again." Garrow leaned forward and held out his hand. "My name is Garrow Cadocsson, leader of the Storm's Tears. And you are?"  
Eragon took the man's hand cautiously.  
"Eragon . . just Eragon."  
The man looked with pity upon him.  
"A bastard, eh?"  
Eragon bristled and his eyes went dark.  
"No! I had a father!"  
Garrow held up his hands in an effort to show he meant no offense.  
"Calm down boy, I did not mean it in a way that was condescending. I am friends with several. It makes you no less a man, I assure you."  
Eragon relaxed a little and tried to sit up, failing as he realized how weak he was. Garrow called for food and drink to be brought to Eragon before he returned to their conversation.  
"So, Eragon, what were you doing in those mountains? They are highly dangerous to travel alone. Especially for one so young."  
Eragon felt his eyes water and he looked away.  
"Creatures of horrid origin attacked my village. My mother, Selena, she helped me and another boy escape into the woods surrounding our home. I wanted to go back for her but she made me promise."  
He felt warm liquid roll down his cheeks and held his face down, ashamed. Garrow shook his head, sympathy in his eyes.  
"My dear boy there is no shame in mourning the loss of one you loved. What are you? Twelve, thirteen?"  
Eragon took a deep breath, trying to stop his sorrow.  
"Eleven."  
Garrow raised his eyebrows.  
"You are of impressive size for one so young."  
"I was the man of my house. I had to hunt for my mother and also tend to the fields with her."  
Garrow nodded before changing the subject somewhat.  
"You spoke of another boy. Where is he?"  
Again Eragon felt sadness welling in him.  
"He died six days ago to the jaws of a wolf."  
The man before Eragon felt a deep sense of pity for the boy who had lost so much.  
"Yet you escaped?"  
Remembering back, the boy cringed.  
"I tried to save him. Truly. But by the time I had killed the wolf, Oliver was dead."  
Garrow pulled a key from his pocket as food arrived in the tent, filling it with the scent of warm bread and a meaty broth. Unlocking the cuffs about the boy's wrists, he sat back in his seat. As soon as the tray was placed before Eragon he dove into the food, scarfing down every scrap like it might be the last meal he ever ate. It took him but seconds to clear the surface. Garrow smiled and called for more food for him. As they waited, he continued his questioning.  
"You killed the wolf? How?"  
Eragon intertwined his fingers in a sign of nervousness.  
"I had my arrows strapped to my back and I used it to spear the wolf through the eye."  
"What of your bow?"  
Eragon looked as if he might cry again.  
"I accidentally dropped it when I slipped on the ledge of a cliff. It fell off. If I had only paid better attention I might've had it and killed the wolf before Oliver was gone. It's all my fault."  
Garrow shook his head.  
"Eragon a wolf's first strike is usually the mortal blow. It goes for the throat. The only way Oliver would've lived is if you had warning that the wolf was there. I am truly sorry for all the losses you have felt in your young life, do not add the burden of guilt where none belongs. Am I understood?"  
Eragon nodded, feeling that he was not in such danger as he had previously believed. Garrow, from that point on, became the boy's caretaker and guardian. Essentially; he welcomed him into the Storm's Tears and trained him to be a brutal fighter over the years. Eragon rose through the ranks and, by the time that he was fifteen, had become a gifted and very helpful addition to their group.

Present Time:

At this point he wasn't so thankful to 'Uncle' Garrow as he had taken to calling him. The man had sent him on this obscene mission and now he was caught in this rank and dark dungeon. Slime covered the surfaces and he was forced to sit on the hard stone floor. And to think, this had all started with him spending a peaceful night under the stars, keeping to himself as he usually did...

Past time, earlier today:

He'd been sitting on an overhanging bluff that looked out to the the lake below, when the sound of hoofbeats reached his ears. Turning, he saw a rider wearing a bloodstained shirt and barely remaining on his horse.

He slowed to a stop when he saw Eragon, jumping down and falling to his hands. Eragon stood, pulling his blade from it's sheath and walking cautiously to the man.

"Who are you?"

A panicked and tearful voice answered.

"Count Edmond Vawdrey. I need help! I've always paid you on time! Please if you don't help me I will lose my title! My entire life! Please!"

Eragon looked perturbed.

"Pick yourself up and stop whining as a child would. You are a man, act like it."

The Count, although terrified of something still undetermined, was rebuked and angry at being talked down to by somebody he saw as inferior. He stood, glaring at Eragon although his voice remained shrill as if he was on the fringes of insanity.

"Peasant, you will do as I say. Call for Garrow! I must speak with him at once."

Eragon narrowed his eyes, anger entering them, and took a menacing step towards the man.

"I feel like you are overestimating your worth, sir." His voice was filled with malice and he grinned cruelly at the Count who was shrinking back in fear. "I think you should sit yourself down and explain why you are here. I will deem whether it is a worthy cause."

The Count looked as if he wished to protest but instead sat down upon a rock that jutted out of the earth. Eragon stood before him, sheathing his weapon and crossing his arms. Edmond dropped his head into his hands, his true unrest and despair showing in that one movement.

"I killed him." Eragon dropped his hand to the pommel of his weapon. If this man was a murderer then he would put him down within moments. The Count continued. "We were out on the patio of his home and we got into an argument. He became aggressive, shoving me into the wall. In return, I pushed back, not realizing or remembering how close to the edge we were. He fell off and landed on his neck. Please! I need help to sort this out!"

Eragon sighed.

"Who was this man?"

The Count winced, nervously fidgeting with his fingers.

"Antony Goode. Duke Antony Goode."

Eragon swore.

"You killed a Duke?!" The Count nodded, trying to keep tears from his eyes. Shaking his head, Eragon stood. "Come with me. We will meet with Garrow and see what he has to say of this."

Edmond sighed in relief and stood. Leading the way, Eragon made sure to keep the Count in his sight at all times. As they neared the camp, several members of their guild looked curiously at his guest. He saw Garrow scolding somebody who seemed to have dropped an entire potful of broth. A chuckle left Eragon's lips, knowing exactly what he was being told. It had happened to him more than a few times in the past. When Garrow caught sight of him and their visitor, he stopped what he was doing and questioned Eragon with a look.

The Count didn't wait to be appropriately introduced and instead ran to Garrow, dropping to his knees.

"You must help me, Garrow. I need you to remove any evidence that I was there!"

Garow stepped away from the wailing man, disgusted at his sordid appearance.

"Have you lost your senses? Stand up, Edmond!"

Doing so, the Count gripped Garrow's tunic in fisted hands.

"Help me please."

Eragon, now impatient, stepped forward and explained to Garrow what the Count had told him. Letting out a string of obscenities, the leader of the Storm's Tears ran a hand down his face.

"Foolish man! If you are discovered, you will lose everything."

The Count whimpered.

"I know! Help me! My money is at your disposal. You will all be paid handsomely for your quick action."

Not wanting to be wrangled in, Eragon began to walk away but Garrow called him back.

"Very sly, Eragon, but not enough so I'm afraid. Now get back over here. You know you will obviously be leading this mission; there's nobody that I trust more."

Groaning, Eragon turned and glared daggers at the Count who seemed unsure.

"Garrow, this inexperienced man doesn't seem like an adequate choice for something of this importance."

Eragon tensed, stepping a foot closer, gravel crunching under his boots.

"Count, I would watch your tongue in these parts: nobody would bat an eye here if somebody was heinously slaughtered."

Edmond shrank back while Garrow shook his head at him.

"Are you positive he doesn't seem the man for the job? He strikes fear into your heart in seconds. I feel that qualifies him as being more than capable. More so than anyone else here, including myself."

The Count studied Eragon from over Garrow's shoulder.

"Well... he must bring others with him."

Eragon shook his head.

"That isn't necessary. It will bring the risk of discovery since there will be little room for error."

Edmond continued to press.

"This is my money! I want several of you present for the job!"

Garrow shrugged.

"It is your loss if they are caught."

Eragon clenched his fists, angry at his boss for agreeing.

"No, it will be mine if we are caught. What do you plan to do then?"

Garrow waved away his worry.

"My dear boy, I have connections throughout that castle from the lowest to the highest positions. I will easily get you out."

Nodding reluctantly, Eragon turned and caught sight of the two people he wanted with him.

"Isabel, Gilbert! Gather your weapons and meet me at the mouth of the camp. Wear your hooded gear."

They nodded, not questioning his authority. All here knew his skill and standing and nobody had any trouble with it, even though he was much younger than most. He himself returned to his tent that was pitched next to Garrow's and pulled off his plain black tunic. This called for shadowed movement. If they were caught, it would mean imprisonment or execution. Sliding on his black, hardened leather gear, he studied the insignia that was branded over his left breast. It matched perfectly to the brand that was imbedded on his skin just under the armor. The initials "S" and "T" with a bolt of jagged lightning in between them.

For a moment, he was caught in a memory:

"_Keep calm boy. This is your last test."_

_Eragon was almost at the verge of panic as he stared at the burning coals. An iron brand was resting casually in it, heating, being prepared to sear him forever. Garrow gripped his shoulders and he felt comfort in the man's reassurance. Still, as the second in command of the Storm's Tears, William, removed the brander from the heat, his fear returned sevenfold. Terror crawled up his spine and he dug his nails into the cot that he sat on. A gust of wind entered the tent and blew across his bare torso and he almost bolted. Almost. He knew that doing so would cause him to lose his place amongst these people._

_If he ran or made any noise as the fire burned his skin, he wouldn't be granted a place in the guild. Garrow stood back and let William take his place. The man gave Eragon a look as if asking if he was ready, before lowering the brand and leveling it before his chest. In that moment, Eragon felt something surface that he had only felt one time before. A rush of adrenaline poured into his system and his mind focused only at the task before him. Wild courage lifted his fright and replaced it with an angry calm. He would not move. He would not utter even a syllable. _

_He watched boldly as the iron approached his body, just as he had approached the wolf not but two years ago. A sizzling noise reached his ears before he felt the pain rack his chest. Instead of reacting, he just watched in curiosity. A rancid smell reached his nose and he knew it was the aroma of his burning flesh. Still, he ignored the horrible agony that was tearing through him and forced his mind to shut it out completely. As the iron was removed he looked down and saw the signature of the Storm's Tears glowing from his chest. A smile tugged at his lips and he knew he was where he was supposed to be._

He shook his head, returning to the present.

He found that same smile from his past on his lips, just remembering that day. Garrow and William had been shocked at this sudden change in demeanor. After several moments of silence, Garrow had burst into laughter and slapped his thigh saying,

"Boy you sure have a set of balls right there."

Eragon had just grinned and walked out into the cool winter air, wearing no shirt. The mercenaries that had been waiting saw he had passed the test and a cheer went up in the night. He had been continually congratulated and the tale of his bravery and fearlessness had spread rapidly through the camp. To this day, Eragon was still capable of receding into that part of his mind. The part where nothing mattered and he became recklessly brave. It was just now he could do it on his own whim, instead of in the very heat of a moment.

He left on his black breeches and boots, having no need to change them, before walking out of the tent. The stagnant heat of the summer night making him instantly begin to sweat. He sighed and started towards the front of the encampment. Already there, Isabel was holding reins of three horses and she was dressed as he. Eragon thanked her and took his horse, Oli, named after the friend he had lost so long ago. The Destrier was beautiful, taken as a newborn from a noble who had failed in his payment to him. It's silky black coat shimmered wherever light touched, showing no imperfection in design. He'd been truly lucky to acquire such a fine specimen.

Gilbert arrived a moment later and Eragon settled into his saddle, the other two following suit. With a squeeze of his heels he set Oli off into a trot, and then into a full run. The wind berated his skin and dried the sweat from his brow, giving him relief from the heat, if only momentarily. He took a path they all knew well, for it lead to the Varden, the Kingdom that they set their base near. As the dirt below was pounded down by the horses, he studied the road around them and the shadows in the trees. Not that he thought anybody would be stupid enough to attack them, for the Storm's Tears were well known throughout the land. Still, you could never be too certain.

It was still night when they reached gates of the city although dawn was close upon them. From his travels he knew the Varden wasn't the most glamorous of all the kingdoms but he felt that they had the bravest men. Something he truly respected. Of course, the warriors of Tronjheim and Ellesmera were the greatest fighters but these men here had insurmountable will and courage. Two guards in chainmail, with tunics of the Varden royal purple, stood on either side of the heavy metal gate. Eragon slowed to a walk and then halted beside the men. Immediately, the insignia on his chest, shown easily by the bright torches set into the stone arch of the gate, was recognized.

The guard on the right narrowed his eyes.

"What is your business here, mercenary? We don't want trouble in the city."

Eragon smiled charmingly.

"We were sent to gather supplies and you accuse us of treachery already?"

The guard was unnerved by his smile. For more than once had one such as his been used to gain entrance, only for the guards to learn later of some terrible happening. But Eragon knew they would not refuse them entrance, knowing that doing so would put their jobs and, possibly lives, in jeopardy. The man on the right sighed and called up to the tower.

"Open the gate!"

Slowly, the creaking of turning wheels sounded from above as the iron barrier slowly rose from the ground. Not waiting for it to fully rise, Eragon urged his horse forward into the city. The cobblestones under the trotting feet of his horse set a rhythm that soothed his mind. They moved at a casual pace, not wanting to draw attention to themselves in any way. They traveled past small huts and cottages that had missing boards and broken windows, patched up by the plastering of tanned leathers to the hole. Most weren't out this early in the morning but those who were also recognized them, as had the guards. At the sight of them, they retreated into their houses with haste.

Eragon chuckled, glad their reputation put such fear in the hearts of the people. If it didn't, they'd have much more trouble completing their jobs. Passing into the richer part of town, Eragon studied the solid stone and slate buildings about them. These homes didn't have missing windows or broken stones, for they had money being put in every day to their upkeeping. The cobblestone path was rid of weeds in this area and all the gardens and flowers gave out a relaxing scent.

He knew where the Duke's home was from riding through the city numerous times. It was much further in, nearer to the castle because of his rank. By the time they were close, the sun was breaking over the clouds and shining it's rays down upon them. He slowed their horses to a walk and looked at Gilbert and Isabel.

"Put up your hoods. We cannot risk being seen. No need for the scarfs yet, but if there is trouble, pull them up quickly."

They nodded and did as he said. He saw a side alley in front of them and headed for it just as the sound of running hoofbeats reached his ears. He turned and saw an approaching garrison of Knights in glaring silver armor. A small jolt of nervousness went through him before he remembered he hadn't done anything wrong as of yet. Smiling to himself, he waited for the horses to pass. To his dismay, he saw the front rider slow at sight of the riders in black before holding a gauntleted fist up and calling for the riders to stop. The front horse, a Destrier of white, carried a knight Eragon thought rather scrawny. It wasn't until the purple cape shifted that he saw why. It was a woman who wore the armor. She walked her horse towards them but kept safe distance.

"What is your business in the city?"

Eragon kept his head lowered, letting the shade of the hood hide his face.

"We are but passing through."

The woman brought her hands to her helm and slid it from her head. As she did, black locks began to swirl around her. He also realized that the tail that had extruded from the upper back of her helmet was really her hair pulled through as it disappeared when she removed it. He moved his eyes to her face and was left breathless. Her face was porcelain even though he knew she was probably out in this heat at all times. Her skin was flawless and her hair looked as if she hadn't just ridden miles from wherever they had come. When he met her eyes, he was all but captivated. The green emeralds seemed inhuman, for their brilliance was of the likes he'd never seen before. She moved a bit closer.

"There. I have removed my mask, now you may be free to do the same."

Eragon chuckled.

"Someone with a lovely face as yours wouldn't wish to look on one such as me."

When the woman spoke next her voice was hard and commanding.

"Remove your hoods, mercenaries. Immediately."

He shook his head.

"My dear, I'm afraid you are mistaken. I remove my clothing for nobody on command."

He was teasing her, a fact she noticed easily from the narrowing of her eyes. As she was about to speak, another horse arrived from the direction of the castle. They pulled up beside the knight.

"Arya, why do you tally? Nasuada awaits word from Tronjheim."

Looking reluctant to let him go, she turned.

"I'm on my way, Orik."

Replacing her helmet after a cold look his direction, she spurred her horse towards the castle. Eragon breathed a sigh of relief and dismounted from his horse, the others doing the same. Walking into the alley they tied the reins to an iron ring that had probably been hooked on the wall to hang flowers. They didn't have to fear their animals being stolen because their symbol resided on all three saddles, so nobody would have the guts to take them. Walking the alleys the rest of the way, Eragon felt the heat like he was standing under a fire.

They could see the house in the distance and the balcony that the Count had mentioned in his recount of what had happened. He went to the front door, knocking. He needed to know what the servants knew of the incident and silence them if they were going to report the incident. The man who answered looked worried, a feeling that seemed to grow when he realized who Eragon was.

"Ye-yes?"

"Do you know where we can find the Duke?"

The man shook his head.

"I haven't seen him since last night."

Eragon glanced inside before turning to Isabel and whispering so only she could hear.

"You and Gilbert make sure they stay distracted. I'm going to the back to assess the scene. I'm trying to figure out how they have still not seen a dead body in the garden."

She nodded and pushed past the stumbling doorman.

"We'll look inside for what he owes us."

They pushed past the resisting man and left Eragon alone on the steps. He in turn headed for the walled in back patio, glad he'd brought those two along. Especially Isabel. While older, she was one of the most cunning mercenaries in their guild. The gardens were in perfect condition and on another day, Eragon probably would've stopped and taken in the view. Right now, he just wanted to get this done and get out of sight. When he arrived in the back, there was no body on the ground and immediately his mind went to the thoughts of a trap. But what for? He looked about for several moments, waiting for something, when he saw a glimmer from a bush next to the wall of the house. Partially unsheathing his weapon, he walked towards it. He recognized the shape of a boot and realized that it was a shoe buckle that was reflecting the light of the sun. He knelt down and looked at the body that was well hidden in the bush, impressed that Edmond had the presence of mind to hide the Duke. The way he'd been acting had led Eragon to believe the scene would be rather messy.

He thought for a moment and decided upon waiting until nighttime to remove the body. He used his foot to push the Duke's boot out of sight completely. He opened the back door and saw that Isabel was talking to several of the house staff while Gilbert pretended to search for something. He joined Gilbert in the search.

"The body is hidden in the back. I think waiting till night would fare us the best." Gilbert nodded and Eragon turned to the doorman. "What we are looking for is obviously not here. We shall wait for your master to return and give it to us himself."

The doorman seemed to wish to protest but there was truly nothing he could do. Eragon pulled Isabel and Gilbert to the side.

"We need to fuddle their accounts of last night and make it seem that the Count was not seen here last night. By the time we leave, we need to be sure nobody can make sense of what happened."

They all agreed and set about doing something they were all very skilled at from past experiences.

_**ARYA**_

They reached the gates in good time and were let through immediately. They had been riding for two days without rest and she knew her horse was beginning to wear down. Still, they didn't slow their pace as they flew through the all too familiar city streets. It was only when she saw the black leathers that were known throughout the kingdoms to belong to the Storm's Tears that she called her knights to a stop. She was tired of these brigands getting away with so much. They wrought havoc wherever they visited and it just so happened that the Varden was their favorite spot, where they had set up their camp.

She watched them warily before deciding to quickly investigate what they were doing in the city - as well as deciding whether or not to arrest them or not.

Arya asked pointedly what their business was but the one that answered gave a vague response. Removing her helmet in the hopes that the tension might be eased, Arya gestured for them to lower their hoods. Once again, the same man answered but in a much cheekier manner which very much irritated her. He continued to make snide remarks even after she commanded them to reveal themselves.  
However, before she could make a retort, Orik came over and reminded her of the need for haste due to the importance of their report. She gave the insufferable hooded man an icy glare, before replacing her helmet and nudging her horse into a gallop towards the castle.

Night had descended by the time Arya finished speaking with the council. Some of the nobles in the meeting just didn't know when to keep quiet and let somebody finish talking, without attempting to interrupt with a whole multitude of questions. The Queen eventually managed to silence them in the end, thankfully.

Arya started towards her home when thought of the mercenaries from earlier reached her mind. Wanting to find out the damage of their actions, she headed to the area she'd encountered them earlier that day. Scanning the buildings and roads about her, she spotted three horses tied up in a nearby alleyway. Arya made her way down the narrow passage and checked their saddles, identifying them as animals that belonged to the Storm's Tears from the insignia's stitched on the saddles. Looking up ahead, she managed to make out Duke Anthony Goode's residence up ahead in the night..

_Why would the mercenaries be. . . . . He must owe them something he hasn't paid up on. _She continued walking ahead, making sure her steps were slow and as noiseless as possible, glad that she had changed into her own leathers and left her armor in the armory. Crouching down as she reached the end of the alley, Arya looked for any signs of the mercenaries in the area.

One of them suddenly exited the door. It was the one she had conversed with earlier, judging from his stature and height. He began to head towards the back garden of the Count's house and Arya quickly moved into action, following him. She stopped once again, crouching beside the entrance to the garden and trying to ascertain what exactly this man was doing. He carefully looked around, likely making sure no-one else was present but completely missed Arya's presence due to the night camouflaging her body against the dark stone walls. Suddenly brushing some bushes aside, he bent and lifted a body out the bushes, causing Arya's eyes to widen slightly. She caught a quick glimpse of a hand with a ring on it: that was the Duke's body. Cursing mentally, she immediately stood up and ran into the garden, intent on arresting the mercenary.

His hearing, however, must have been better than his peripheral vision and exceptionally acute as he instantly spun around at the sound of her footsteps and leaped into action at the sight of her, dropping the body like some rag doll. He called out something that was lost in the night and bolted towards the alternate exit of the garden. Sprinting out onto the street, he dove into the alleys.

She started after him now realizing, from the way he spoke and held himself, that he was the leader of this little band of Storm's Tears. The Duke was dead so there was nothing more she could do for him. The stones under her feet reverberated with her footfalls as she tore past a farmer who was on his way back to his home, outside the walls of the city. This man was fast. He sprinted past a group of patrolling guards and she shouted for them to grab him. He slipped by all their hands, turning down a side alley. The guards started to follow but she called them back.

"Return to your patrol. You'll only be in my way!"

She dodged around the corner, following the sound of his footsteps because he was already out of sight. She came out into the main streets again, this time much closer to her adversary than she had been. She heard him swear as he glanced back and saw her.

"You have some fast feet there!"

She ignored him, gaining every step she took. Up ahead, she saw another patrol of guards and they were already spread across the street, weapons drawn. She growled annoyed. He would change course now. If they had feigned ignorance until he arrived or even left the pursuit to her, they would have him in seconds. Now he was going to try and lose her again. But her thoughts were wrong as he didn't change directions. He didn't even slow. The guards tensed and she slowed somewhat, wanting to see what he was going to do. As he reached them, going full speed, he dropped, sliding between two and using his arms to knock them over.

Rolling into a run, he continued on. She raised her eyebrows, picking up her pace again and leaping over the fallen guards. Just as he reached the turn before the main wall, a lone knight appeared, one she knew from her own training. Taking in the scene before him with quick precision, Efrem made a grab at the running man. With almost impossible reaction speed, the mercenary leapt into the air, flying over the head of Efrem and soaring into the ground. He hit hard enough to break bones but he got up as if he felt nothing. Efrem ran at him, reaching him as he started to run again. He gripped the man's hood but, before he could do anything, the mercenary had ducked and spun, knocking the knight from his feet. Efram hit the ground and the culprit took off again, sprinting at full speed even after all of this running. When she turned the corner she saw him in the process of climbing up the side of a blacksmith's shop. She chased after him, scaling the building just behind him.

For the next several minutes it was a game of cat and mouse as he leapt from the roofs of the noble's homes, all with flat stone that made his escape easier. She, although quick and agile, could gain no ground up here for it seemed he was in his natural element. Finally, he reached the edge of the upper class homes and was forced to drop down the side of a huge mansion, using the windows and loose stones to cushion his descent. She did the same and soon they were headed to the far side of the city. It was a worrisome prospect because she knew that there was a major festival going on there; if he found his way into the crowd, she would be hard put to keep eyes on him.

It seemed he knew that as well, for he took the streets that would lead him to it. The roar of laughing people and clanking of glasses filled her ears, along with music and the sound of dancing feet. She cursed, knowing she wouldn't find him in time and instead decided on something else. Turning into an alley she scaled the makeshift stage that had been built for this event. At the moment, nobody's attention would be on it because everyone was too busy making merry and dancing. Reaching the top, she looked out into the crowd until she caught a glimpse of the mercenary's leathers. She watched amusedly as he grabbed a cloak from the back of a chair and threw it over his shoulders, hiding everything underneath. She sat precariously on the ledge of the top of the stage, making sure to keep him in sight.

It was interesting watching how a man who knew he was being pursued act like he was having a jolly time at the festival. The mercenary danced with several women, making them blush and laugh. Obviously this man was not ugly as he had proclaimed himself to be. Finally, after almost two hours, she saw him take a long glance around and then head for the alleyways. Dropping to the ground, she moved to cut him off, waiting for him around the side of a corner, her back against the bricks. The moment he walked by her, she shackled his wrist with one side of her cuffs, yanking him to the ground. He reacted quickly, rolling and pulling free of her grasp. As he stood, he drew his sword and held it before him, a smile on his face. Still, all she could see was his mouth because of the hood that covered his head.

"You are a foxy one aren't you, Knight Arya?"

She also unsheathed her sword and held it before her.

"And you are no match for a knight in a duel with blades. I suggest you drop your weapon and surrender yourself."

The man laughed and she bristled, stepping forward. He matched her feet's movement, changing position like a master. Yet he was the first to attack, swinging his blade down in an arc at her head. She parried the blow quickly, pushing his sword away and cutting at his stomach, head, and then back to his stomach in rapid succession. He was pressed backward as he tried to retreat from the blows. While he was off-balance, she stabbed at his chest and swung up, knocking his sword out of guard. Lunging forward, she slammed her body into his and he fell to the ground, hitting the stones hard.

She dropped to him, flipping him onto his back and gripping both hands with her own while she hooked the other cuff to his wrist. A groan escaped his lips as she yanked him to a standing position, sheathing her sword and picking up his. She pressed his own sword to his back, making sure he felt it just at his spine. He wouldn't move when he knew she could paralyze him in seconds. Marching him through the city streets, they got many a look from citizens and guards alike. Several guards offered to take Eragon off her hands but she waved them off, feeling that he would somehow escape once more.

She entered the gates of the upper district and saw him tense slightly. Looking around she caught sight of a cloaked figure disappearing around the side of a house.

"Call him off."

Eragon froze, stopping, which made the blade cut into his tunic and the first layer of skin. She reacted quickly, swiping Eragon's feet from under him and putting him on the ground just as the cloaked figure leapt from the roof of the building they had just hidden behind. Arya rolled to the side, narrowly missing a blow to the head with a large club. She crouched into position, looking at the approaching man while also trying to keep tabs on her prisoner.

The hooded figure ran at her and she parried his blow with her prisoner's sword, shoving the attacker to the ground with a kick of her boot. The man she had chased through the streets was in the process of running back the way he came. _Oh no you don't._ Sprinting after him, she was hindered by somebody latching their hand to the back of her tunic. Gripping their arm, she swung around and flung the attacker into the ground and pressed her knee into his back as her prisoner disappeared around the corner. She swore, yanking the hood from the mercenary on the ground. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, sporting a rough beard and had brown hair. Yanking him to his feet, she turned him and shoved him into the wall of the closest house. He may have a had a muscular build, judging by his weight, but she was most certainly not 'weak' herself.

"What was that man's name!?"

The man seemed intimidated slightly but kept his mouth closed firmly. She cursed herself for not pulling down the other Storm's Tear's hood but she had liked that he only had limited vision and couldn't look around much without being obvious about it. It would've made it easier to notice if he was about to make a move. Too bad it wasn't him that moved but this mercenary. She slammed him hard into the stones again, the echo sounding through the empty night.

"Who is he!?"

Hearing steps to her right, she had a guess who it was. Instead of making her knowledge known, she pretended she didn't hear them. As the body slammed into hers, she flung her arm around his neck and pulled her dagger with her other hand. They hit the ground together, her underneath him but with the upper hand. The other man ran to try and help his friend but she pressed the blade to her prisoner's throat and glared the other one down.

"Against the wall."

The man did as she asked while she pushed the shackled prisoner off of her and yanked him to his feet. He jerked to the side, trying to pull away.

"Roran, run!"

The man hesitated.

"She'll kill you."

Her prisoner shook his still hooded head.

"I said run!"

Looking regretful, the man disappeared into the night. Arya began walking just as a patrol of guards turned a corner of the streets. She called for them.

"Create an inverted wedge around us. I don't want any more trouble tonight and this prisoner seems important to the Storm's Tears."

She turned the man and roughly pushed his hood back. Her heart stuttered strangely as his face was revealed. Angry, light brown eyes met hers and it wasn't the face of an aged man, but a young one. His chiseled jaw was clenched tightly, in obvious fury. So as to gain control of herself, she turned him away and began to walk him to the castle with the guards in position around them. By the time they reached the gates that surrounded the palace, she had reacquired her cold and passive mindset. After walking through, she turned him, forcing him towards the dungeon that was built just beside it.

_**ERAGON: **_Present Time

And now he was here in this stupid place, waiting on his judgement that would most likely end with his death or life time imprisonment. He'd been sitting there for over an hour, listening to the repetitive sounds of guards marching about the keep on patrol. Sunlight shone through the lone, small window set in the wall. It was like a teasing sliver of freedom for those locked in the cells. He sighed, berating himself mentally. He'd known something bad would happen on such a foolhardy mission as this. Of course, he hadn't planned on being chased by a knight such as Arya; she seemed to have skills beyond most knights he'd encountered in past skirmishes.

A clanking of doors and the rumble of voices let him know somebody was coming. He stood abruptly, facing the door. He wondered who was going to enter. Would it be his captor, Arya? The door swung open and before him was indeed Arya but with another man. He had cool, stark blue eyes and silver hair cut short. Something about the man struck Eragon with an instant familiarity that made his heart clench tightly. Just as quickly as it came though, the feeling was gone and Eragon returned to his arrogant facade. However, he also saw the new arrival stiffen somewhat as well which made Eragon curious. Arya motioned for Eragon to exit the cell and he sneered at her.

"Am I walking to my doom? If so, I feel that it is necessary for me to put up some essence of a fight."

Arya ignored his comment so the man behind her spoke.

"No. You are to be questioned."

Something of a memory stirred within Eragon, before he was distracted by Arya gripping the ragged tunic they'd put him in and shoving him out of the cell. He gave her a cheeky grin.

"If you wanted to play rough all you had to do was ask."

Brom cuffed his ear and pushed him forward. They walked down a stone hall and reached another room only blocked by a wooden door. Obviously this was not a cell. Opening it, Arya went and sat behind a wooden table that had been placed in the center of the room. She nodded at the empty chair opposite to her while Brom walked and stood at her side. Eragon rolled his eyes and dropped in the seat, making it creak in protest to his weight. The silver-haired man was the first to speak.

"We'd like to know why you killed him."

Eragon narrowed his eyes, still trying to remember why this complete stranger was sparking such curiosity in his mind.

"I didn't."

Arya leaned back leisurely, assessing his words with a hard glare.

"That's obviously false: you were caught in the act. There is no point in trying to deceive us."

Eragon sighed.

"You're assumptions are quick to come, yet think of who I am and what I do. I'm not a murderer. If people want somebody killed they call an assassin. I clean up messes, defend land and such things alike. What purpose would I have for killing a Duke?"

Arya pursed her lips.

"Then tell us: who did kill Antony?"

Eragon gave her a wry grin and lifted his feet up onto the table, only to have them shoved off immediately by the man standing silently behind Arya. Eragon gave him an annoyed look before answering.

"I can't tell you that now can I? I wouldn't get my pay."

The green eyed beauty before him crossed her arms over her chest.

"If you don't divulge a name, you will go down for his crime."

Eragon glanced at her slyly, templing his fingers and setting them on the table. He leaned forward as if he were about to share some kind of secret.

"I'll be out of here before you even make it back to your little knight's quarters. Reaver holds the strings to many puppets in this castle."

Brom opened his mouth to speak when the wooden door was thrown open, causing it to smash against the stone. A boy, not much older than sixteen, stood in a purple and white tunic. Embroidered over his left breast was a bear head and he had a mace latched to his belt. His face was wet with perspiration from, what Eragon supposed, was a long run. He spoke in a rushed voice.

"A horde of over a thousand goblins are ransacking the villages around the castle! Nasuada calls for all knights to assemble immediately and defend the walls!"

Arya was up instantly but Eragon's heart had just dropped into his stomach. Before Arya could walk out of the room he shot his hand out and gripped her arm. She whirled, prepared for a fight, but something in his eyes made her stop from bringing him to the ground. He tried to emphasize his sincerity.

"I need you to check on my people. Please."

She gazed at him intently before giving him a curt nod and following Brom out of the room. Eragon sat back, sudden fear and despair gripping him so hard that he couldn't breathe. The mercenaries were strong, yes, but a thousand goblins. . . He shivered and pressed his hands to his eyes while the door slammed closed and locked him into the now seemingly suffocating room.

_**ARYA: **_Several Hours Later

She sat upon her horse, staring over the destruction that made her sad to live in this world. Smoke rose from burnt tents and bodies were strewn about the dirt and weeds, with arrows protruding from them or limbs missing. As much as she'd hated these mercenaries, a death toll of this amount was devastating for any eye to see. Thinking back to the man in the prison, she grimaced. He was not going to take this well.

While some stayed behind to bury the bodies, for burning was only suitable for enemies, she spurred her horse towards the castle. It was dark when she reached the inner yard, just outside of the keep. She had been ordered to report as soon as she returned but she felt it was her duty to relay the information of his friend's deaths to the mercenary beforehand. Going down the cold stone steps, she made her way back to the room he had been left in and braced herself before opening the door. The man turned, looking directly in her eyes. He seemed as if he had aged years and looked like he hadn't slept in nights. All for fear of what happened to his people. She did not enjoy the thought of telling him what she'd found.

Apparently she didn't need to as his brown eyes looked into hers for an instant before she watched his soul shatter. It made her heart tighten painfully and, for some reason as a tear spilled down his face, she felt his sorrow as her own.

From the agony he seemed to feel, she was surprised he wasn't a heaping mess on the floor, wailing in sorrow. Instead, no more than that one tear trailed down his cheek. He seemed to be gripping the table so hard that his skin was flushed and his body was dead still.

She realized a fraction of a second later that he was about to lose all control. Fury and unadulterated rage had replaced his sorrow and now he was out of his own mind. He stood suddenly, flipping the table over the chair she'd vacated hours before, smashing it into the stone wall. She found that she was glad she hadn't decided to sit down to speak with him. Next he grabbed his chair in his left hand and swung it around, hurling it into the wall. The sound from it breaking ricocheted off the hard stone and grout.

He made no sound as he kicked a larger piece of his chair that hadn't broken. Instead of this violence releasing his torrent of anger, it seemed to be fueling it instead, and to a dangerous level at that. He'd just picked up her chair and battered it into the ground when she stepped forward and gripped his arm tightly. Without warning, he spun her and slammed her hard into the wall, his body pressing against hers and keeping it still. The wind was knocked from her lungs and she gasped in air, trying to breath.

He watched her, his limbs literally shaking with a blind hate that seemed to have consumed his whole being until all that was left was some sort of demon. She caught her breath as he continued to stare at her and, for some reason, she wasn't able to look away. His chest rose and fell while his vicious eyes slowly returned to their soft earthen color. After a moment he dropped his head slightly and sucked in deep breaths, all the while she stood frozen against his body. His fingers tightened their grip on her arms before he released her and stepped back enough so that he wasn't invading her personal space.

"I'm sorry."

She didn't answer as she tried to figure out how exactly to respond. He was in pain, yet what he had just done was enough to demand his execution. She shook her head.

"It's fine. I should return you to your cell."

He backed away further, looking pleadingly at her.

"You must let me avenge their deaths. Those monsters have to feel the pain tenfold that they have inflicted."

She studied him for several moments, the gatherings of an idea forming in her mind.

"I must discuss something with the queen. You will return to your cell for now but I shall come for you in two hours." She saw hope on his face and warned him. "It won't be for your immediate release."

He nodded, somewhat crestfallen, and walked out before her towards his previous holding room. She unlocked the metal door and pulled it open, letting him slide inside before shutting and locking it again. With quick steps, she made her way towards the towering keep. Guard towers surrounded it and men kept watch vigilantly over the grounds. She cut through the grass to save time and stepped into the side passage, normally meant for kitchen workers and runners. Several people nodded at her as she passed by, knowing who she was from her frequent trips using the 'secret' route instead of the one meant for high ranking soldiers. Making her way about the maze of halls, she passed countless tapestries and paintings as she headed for the council room. By the time she arrived, everyone else had already assembled and were presumably waiting for her. Nasuada looked somewhat annoyed by her tardiness but she said nothing, knowing that Arya was under nobody's command but her own. Still, Arya gave an explanation.

"The Storm's Tears mercenary we have in the dungeon deserved to know the outcome of his people."

Nasuada settled into her seat.

"And how is he?"

Arya sat beside the queen.

"We shall need to replace the furnishings in the room meant for interrogations. Most are broken and strewn across the floor."

Pity ghosted through Nasuada's eyes from her inference of Arya's answer, before returning to the problem at hand.

"We must discuss why such a large horde of these creatures were banded together. It is most unusual behavior and is against their nature. Something has united them."

Brom, who sat across from Arya, looked troubled.

"Or someone."

This revelation brought pensive looks from everyone around the table. Arya agreed with him. Galbatorix's plans for the future of Alagaesia were unsettling at the least. Wanting to draw in the kingdoms under one king or queen... She fought back a shiver at the thought of him as the ruler of all the nations. She listened carefully as others formulated ideas and theories on what may have caused the incident. None of them actually believed what they were saying of course, since half of it sounded like nonsensical conspiracies, but nobody dared to voice that truth. Finally, once the meeting was concluded and the advisors and major nobles went their separate ways over an hour later, Arya had room to voice something that she'd come up with in the prison with the mercenary.

"Nasuada, Brom."

Both stopped their retreat to their rooms and turned. She motioned for them to sit back down and waited while the council chambers cleared. Once done, she leaned against the back of her chair.

"I have a proposition."

The queen looked at her with curiosity.

"Concerning?"

"The man we hold in the dungeons."

"I'm listening." she replied slowly, curiosity getting the better of her.

Arya gave Brom a meaningful glance before speaking.

"I think we should induct him into knight training."

Nasuada raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

"Absolutely not."

Brom stepped in instantly.

"I support the proposition. From Arya's account, he is intelligent, strong, and a very skilled fighter. We could certainly use somebody like him."

The Varden's leader wasn't swayed.

"And what of his character? You know of the morals of mercenaries and you still wish to grant him such status? Not to mention he is in prison for killing the Duke."

Arya waved away that second part as if it wasn't even a matter of importance.

"We know he didn't commit that crime; most likely he was sent to clean up another noble's mess." Nasuada tried to interrupt but Arya continued on. "As for his morals, as of now he is a broken man. Mercenary bands are like families and his was just decimated. While he will be cold and careless, if we guide him, there is a chance he can change. For the better."

Nasuada didn't seem totally convinced but Arya's argument was chipping away at her resolve.

"You don't seem to have any evidence to back up your theory."

Brom stepped in.

"She can't be certain but Arya's gut is almost always right. I say we test this, let us see this man's true character. We know at least that he is loyal and can love by the fact that he was in the Storm's Tears and that he is so torn apart by their deaths. That particular band never accepted those wanting entrance into their guild just for butchery and gold. They wanted entrants to prove their worth and loyalty, to fight for the band and not solely for their own self-interest. Eragon clearly surpassed their expectations and tests from his obvious rank."

Nasuada thought on it for several moments, her brows furrowed and her fingers laced together. Finally she spoke.

"Bring him here. I'd like to see a demonstration of his skills and speak with him myself."

Arya nodded, having known she'd ask something of the sort.

"Of course."

She stood, nodding in respect, and motioned for Brom to follow her. He did so but as soon as they were out of the room, he stopped her.

"Are you sure about this? I trust your instincts but this merc seems a little unstable. Especially now, seeing as he proceeded to wreck all the furniture in the room."

She thought back and hid the tingle that shot through her veins. For some reason, every time she remembered that man being so close her body reacted against her will. She really needed to get control of herself. Bringing her attention back to the present, Arya nodded.

"I am almost positive. There's. . . there's just something about him that intrigues me."

Brom, unbeknownst to Arya, gave a small grin. He had a feeling he knew exactly why she was intrigued. The tension that had been ever-present as soon as the prison door opened had caught his eye immediately. It seemed this mercenary had the ability to get under the knight's thick skin. He looked forward to seeing that play out. Despite that, he was inclined to agree that there definitely something about the boy that captured his attention. Shaking his head clear of his ponderings, he trailed Arya back to retrieve the prisoner.

They arrived outside his cell and she pushed the key into the cell door, twisted, and pulled it open. Inside, sitting sorrowfully on the ground with his head on his knees and arms over his head, was the mercenary. His head lifted slowly, his gaze empty of emotion. They were the eyes of somebody already dead. Her heart went out to him but her face remained passive.

"Queen Nasuada would like to speak with you." He didn't move. After almost a minute of silence she spoke again. "Do you choose not to answer out of spite or sadness?" Still no answer. She sighed. "Whatever it is, you are coming to the throne room to speak with the queen. Brom."

Brom nodded, walking forward and gripping under the mercenary's arms before lifting him from the floor. He gave him a nudge forward and the man had enough dignity to move for himself instead of being dragged. They made their way along the path as she had before, many of the kitchen staff giving them questioning looks. Curious women glanced at Eragon and seemed to appreciate what they saw for they seemed impressed. Ignoring everyone, Arya led both men back into the castle and through the side passage of the throne room. Nasuada looked away from the noble speaking to her and saw them. Her eyes were hard as she took Eragon in. The noble, seeing that she was finished listening, said his goodbye, bowed and walked out. Nasuada looked to the guards at all the exits.

"Allow no one else in. I have business with which I must attend." They nodded and barred the entrances with their bodies. Nasuada then returned her intense gaze on the mercenary standing before her. "I am told that you are skilled. That you have the potential to be great. Is that wrong?" The mercenary didn't answer, only continued to look at the ground. Nasuada shot Arya a look before speaking again, her voice slightly raised. "I would suggest you answer me. They wish to give you a chance and the only way for you to do that is by showing me what you are capable of."

For several more seconds he didn't answer. As Arya was about to prod him, he spoke.

"I killed the Duke."

Arya froze. _Shit! _Nasuada gave both her and Brom an annoyed look.

"I was told by my Knight here that you hadn't done that. Why would she lie?"

The man shrugged, showing that he couldn't care less.

"Not sure. But I did it: snapped his neck like a twigl."

Beside her Brom sighed, giving her a helpless look before gripping his manacles. He had no choice. The man had admitted committing murder in front of the Queen and her only option was his death. Before he could be led away, Arya gripped the mercenary's tunic in her fist, yanking him to face her and hissing her words.

"I am trying to grant your freedom you fool. We both know you didn't commit the crime! You already told us yourself!"

He just looked at her, as if he was staring but not truly seeing. She cursed, shoving him back to Brom and turning to Nasuada. The woman tilted her head as if saying that it was decided. Arya listened as the Queen called over a runner to give word that another prisoner would be added to the line of those being hung the next day. Feeling like she had lost something very important, Arya stormed her way to her rooms and dropped to the bed, knowing that she wasn't going to get much sleep that night.

**Once again, hope you enjoyed this new story and the 'knight' theme. Knight training, structure of the land, nations, etc. will be explained as the story progresses so don't worry too much about that. Leave a review to tell us what you think if you can. **

**(Message from EDS: for those of you following my story, the update will be on Monday-Wednesday sometime hopefully. I'm in exams right now so apologies for lateness.) **

**(Message from Unrivaled Mind: I am not in in exams right now because I am too cool for school. I kid, I actually just finished finals weeks ago. The reason I haven't uploaded on my main stories is because I got a job and it sucks. I'll try and update soon.)**

**And for any people who aren't following/haven't seen any of Unrivaled Mind or EDS' individual stories, check 'em out and see what you think. Hopefully you'll like them.**


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